


Midnight

by aveotardis



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Lots of Angst, M/M, don't read if you don't like dub con, dub con, for real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-12-27 05:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21113564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveotardis/pseuds/aveotardis
Summary: The clock in the shop struck midnight and something inside of Aziraphale tensed. This was when Crowley usually showed up, like some crazed and horny Cinderella. He sat and waited for the tell-tale jingle of the bell above the door. He did not have to wait long.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story goes out to my Goose. She helped me through this story and was the one to suggest Denny's to me. Thank you, Goose!
> 
> Also, as stated, there is some dub-con in here, so please don't read if you feel as though you may be triggered by it.

The sun was well on its way to setting but Crowley and Aziraphale paid no mind. They laughed and chortled and drank. The week had been spent inventorying the bookshop, trying to straighten out the books Adam had added and ensuring all the ones Aziraphale had before were there. And now they were finally finished. So, naturally, a celebration was in order.

“They aren’t all bad,” Crowley said and took another sip of port.

“No, no, I expected much worse from an 11-year-old,” Aziraphale agreed. “Lots of stories about pirates in there.”

“Well, at least we know what to get him as a thank you,” Crowley smiled and downed the rest of his glass.

“Yes, I suppose we should. He did save the world. And the Bentley. And the bookshop,” Aziraphale refilled Crowley’s glass. “Speaking of, how is the car?”

“Tiptop, just as before,” Crowley slouched in his chair, one leg hooked over the armrest, the other stretched out onto the edge of the coffee table.

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale smiled, drunk-happy. Or maybe it was just happy-happy. He knew how Crowley doted on his car, not that the demon would ever admit to it. And what made Crowley happy made Aziraphale happy.

“I should, uh,” Crowley mumbled before drinking the rest of his wine, “get going. Gotta water the plants.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale tried not to sound disappointed and failed. “Lunch tomorrow? Or dinner?”

“Yeah, lunch,” Crowley answered as he stood in one fluid motion that shouldn’t have been possible given the way he had been sitting. “That new French place sounds good, might have crepes.” He smirked. Aziraphale giggled, honest to God giggled. He blamed it on the drink, even if he hadn’t had that much.

“My treat,” Aziraphale said as he followed Crowley to the door. “For helping me with…” he trailed off and motioned around the bookshop. Crowley shrugged his shoulders.

“Not a problem,” he said. “See ya tomorrow, angel.” The door closed behind him and all Aziraphale could do was look out the glass as the demon sauntered to his car and drove off. He gave a heavy sigh and went to the gramophone to play one of his many waltzes.

\--

The large grandfather clock Aziraphale had somewhere in the bookshop chimed out the hour: midnight. How the time had gotten away from him. He had been so engrossed in a book, one that Adam had put in the shop when he rebuilt it. He was already half done but thought it a good time for a break, to make some more cocoa and maybe stoke the fire.

He was somewhat startled when he heard the bell ring over the front door. He knew for certain that he’d locked it before he began his book. There was really only one person – well, person-shaped being – it could be.

“Aziraphale?” he heard Crowley’s voice.

“Back here,” he called out. A few seconds later Crowley’s familiar face, sans sunglasses, popped around the corner into the small alcove. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Something like that,” Crowley mumbled. He did not sit down, but walked to stand beside Aziraphale as he poked at the fire.

“Tea or cocoa?” Aziraphale asked as he placed the poker back in the metal stand where it belonged. He looked up when there was no answer. And instead of finding a response he found a pair of lips pressing against his own. He was quite taken aback for a moment, unsure of what to do. That is to say, he knew _what_ to do it was just a bit sudden. So he did what he’d dreamt about a thousand times: he kissed Crowley back.

Fingers bit into his shoulder blades, pulled at the short hair on the nape of his neck. A tongue queried entry, which he gladly obliged. He heard a snap of fingers and found they had moved to the small bedroom in the little flat he had above the shop.

Crowley began to unbutton Aziraphale’s waistcoat with nimble fingers and it made Aziraphale’s head swim. It was all so fast, so sudden. All he could do was clutch his hands to Crowley’s shoulders and kiss him along the jawline. Those sharp edges, those deep hills, the curiously calm heartbeat. He supposed the last one made sense, they didn’t necessarily need a heartbeat, it just sort of came with the body.

His coat pooled down to the floor, which he just couldn’t have, and reached down to retrieve it lest it get dirty. Crowley grabbed his wrist as he reached down, just hard enough.

“Leave it,” Crowley whispered as he pulled Aziraphale’s hand to cup his crotch. Oh. Crowley was most definitely making an Effort. Aziraphale swallowed heavily as his waistcoat joined the floor. “Catch me up, would you?”

All Aziraphale could do was nod. He divested Crowley of his jacket, that silver thing he always wore that Aziraphale wasn’t sure what it was classified as: a tie, a bolo, an ascot? He felt the thin fabric of Crowley’s shirt under his fingers as he untucked it from Crowley’s jeans. By this point, Crowley had gotten Aziraphale’s button-up off only to be faced with an undershirt.

“Fuck sake, Aziraphale,” he sounded a bit agitated, but pulled the undershirt up and off. Aziraphale almost wished he had not. He was a bit chubby, rolls here and there, soft stretch marks. And after Gabriel’s words in the park, he felt more self-conscious than usual. But Crowley didn’t seem to mind, his hands trailing down to undo the fly of Aziraphale’s trousers.

Aziraphale removed Crowley’s shirt and went to his belt buckle. He’d noticed it was shaped like a snake before but it still gave him a bit of a laugh. Internally, of course. And there they were in nothing but boxers and socks. Crowley used one foot to step on the end of his sock while the other pulled itself out and then did the same with the other side.

“Hurry up,” Crowley said as he fell down onto the bed, a fine spray of dust lifting off. He coughed pointedly before snapping his fingers and the bed was clean. Aziraphale removed his socks, hopping back and forth on one foot to do so, and quickly joined Crowley on the bed. He looked down at the demon, drank in his lithe form, his smooth skin, the small bulge of muscle. A not so small bulge in his pants.

“Crowley, you’re so-“

“Yeah, yeah, get on with it,” Crowley flipped Aziraphale onto his back and began to kiss him, deep and messy. Their skin hummed against each other, sweat sticky, and breathe hitching. Well, at least Aziraphale’s breathe. Crowley seemed as though this did not exert him at all. He chucked off both their pants quickly and hooked his hands to the inside of Aziraphale’s knees, opening his legs and spreading them wide.

“Oh, yes, Crowley, please,” Aziraphale muttered. He felt a long, slick finger ease inside of him. It felt odd at first. But then Crowley hooked it slightly and all Aziraphale could see were stars blurring into white spots in his vision. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

Crowley quickly added a second, which burned slightly but in an almost good way. Aziraphale felt near to tears and when he squeezed his eyes shut they fell down the side of his face into the tops of his ears. There was a third finger and together they pushed and prodded, sloped and hooked, and every so often hit that spot just right.

“Please, Crowley, please,” he begged. He opened his eyes to look up at the demon, but his eyes had been closed as well. As the fingers moved out of Aziraphale he let out a gasp. Still, Crowley did not open his eyes. The look on his face was one of near pain. Aziraphale cradled Crowley’s face in his palms. “Look at me, Crowley.”

Crowley obeyed. There was a strange flash in his yellow eyes, one that Aziraphale could not rightly place. He felt Crowley slowly enter him until he was half-way in and then shoved the rest of the way. The sudden spark of pain made Aziraphale gasp and moan. Crowley went on a punishing pace, pulling all the way out and then slamming back in. It hurt but it felt incredible. Soon the thrusts were shallower, more desperate.

Aziraphale could feel the tightening in his stomach, the warm pool spreading over his entire body as his orgasm rose. He was repeating Crowley’s name again and again and again, which seemed to make the demon go faster. Soon Aziraphale felt himself burst, lightning shooting through his veins, a dam breaking against his insides. Somewhere in his mind he felt Crowley fuck him through it, pounding into him with abandon. The lightning coursed through him. He’d never felt such a rush.

By the time he came down, Crowley had already pulled out. Aziraphale was so blissed out he had yet to notice that the demon was no longer on the bed. A few moments passed before he finally could see enough to make out Crowley dressing himself.

“Wh-where are you g-going?” Aziraphale managed to say.

“Home,” Crowley answered simply as he buckled up his belt. Aziraphale propped himself up on his elbows to watch the demon.

“You could stay, if you want,” Aziraphale smiled and patted the empty spot beside him. Crowley looked up at him, his eyes strangely cold and distant.

“Nah,” he answered. Aziraphale felt his heart plummet. What was happening? He shook his head to try and clear it.

“B-but-“ he began but Crowley already had his shirt back on. He picked his coat up off the floor.

“Later, Aziraphale.”

And just like that he was gone. Aziraphale sat dumbfounded for a solid ten minutes, staring at the door, covered in drying semen. Perhaps Crowley was afraid, after all the times Aziraphale had rejected him he couldn’t really be surprised. He might be shielding himself from even more heartbreak, from thinking Aziraphale didn’t love him.

Wait.

Shit.

Aziraphale hadn’t told him that he loved him. That must have been why. Or maybe Crowley didn’t love him. But that was impossible, he knew Crowley loved him. Didn’t he? All those years, all those times Crowley saved him. Asking him to run away to the stars with him. So it had to have been something Aziraphale had done.

Well, that wouldn’t do. So Aziraphale cleaned himself up, miracled the creases out of his clothes, got dressed and went downstairs to wait and think.

\--

Around half past eleven the next morning the door to the bookshop opened, the bell tinkled overhead announcing Crowley’s arrival. Aziraphale stood from his chair and walked out into the shop to greet him, to tell him that he indeed loved him, and that next time Crowley should stay.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled as calmly as he could.

“Hey, angel,” Crowley replied, adjusting his glasses before shoving his hands in his pockets. “You still want to go to that French place or no?”

“Um,” Aziraphale was taken aback. Crowley wasn’t being cold to him, exactly, or acting like he was in any way bothered by the night before. “Yes, that would do nicely, I suppose.”

“Great,” Crowley said and spun on his feet. He headed for the door but paused to wait for Aziraphale. The angel only stared at him.

“I just wanted to talk before we went,” Aziraphale said. He wrung his hands nervously. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything. Maybe Crowley thought it had been a mistake and that the best course of action was to forget.

“Alright,” Crowley replied and leaned his back against the door. “What’s up?”

“Well,” Aziraphale cleared his throat. Crowley raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, waiting for the rest. But Aziraphale couldn’t find the right words. What if Crowley just wanted a casual thing? Something they didn’t talk about in broad daylight. “About last night…”

He stopped himself, unsure where he was even going. Crowley patiently waited but made no move to jump into the conversation. To apologize for leaving, to give an explanation as to why he left. So Aziraphale continued, “About what happened.”

Crowley shrugged his shoulders, “What happened?”

“You leaving…” Aziraphale prompted him. “After we…”

“I told you, I had to water my plants,” he explained and pushed himself off the door. “If I don’t water and yell at them at least once a day they start thinking they can coast.”

So he didn’t want to talk about it. Aziraphale puzzled for a moment. Maybe it was for the best. It hurt, somewhere deep in his chest there was a solid, crushing ache. But perhaps it was a mistake and this was the best way to continue their friendship. Aziraphale would do anything to keep Crowley in his life, especially after what he had said at the bandstand. So, if this was what needed to be done.

“Of course,” Aziraphale gave a pale laugh. “Forget I said anything. Let’s do lunch.”

\--

Lunch had been a quiet affair. The crepes were delicious, almost as good as France. Which only made Aziraphale think of Crowley rescuing him from the Bastille. Which made his heart flutter. But then he remembered that it wasn’t to be. Whatever last night was, it was a fluke, best left unspoken.

“You alright?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale pushed the last of his crepes around his plate. Aziraphale slowly looked up and caught true worry in the demon’s face. Maybe all was not lost. He still cared.

“Yes, fine,” Aziraphale cleared his throat. Perhaps a different approach. “Would you like to take a walk in the park?”

Crowley smiled slightly and nodded. He raised an arm to get the waiter’s attention and proceeded to pay for their meal. It wasn’t until they got in the car to drive to St. James’s that Aziraphale remembered lunch was supposed to have been his treat.

\--

They walked in utter silence. Aziraphale clasped his hands together behind his back and Crowley kept his hands tucked into his pockets. Finally, they sat on their usual bench and watched the ducks. There was a definite aura of anxiety wafting off Crowley.

“Okay,” the demon spat out, “what’s wrong?”

He twisted his body toward Aziraphale, his hand almost touching Aziraphale’s shoulder from where it was draped over the back of the bench. Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. Should they discuss their night together or not? How could Crowley not know what was wrong? Maybe he did think Aziraphale didn’t love him.

“Nothing, nothing,” Aziraphale assured him. But after a beat continued, “I just worry about things, you know.”

“What? Retaliation?” Crowley said, sliding a little closer. “Heaven and Hell?”

“Yes,” it wasn’t exactly a lie. The tips of Crowley’s fingers grazed the joint where Aziraphale’s arm met his shoulder. He could feel the heat of it even through his clothes.

“Don’t worry, angel,” Crowley said in his usual flippant tone. “They’re too focused on how to bring about Armageddon again.”

\--

Crowley drove them back to the bookshop. He was about to turn the ignition off when Aziraphale said, “I think I’d like to be alone.”

Crowley stopped with his hand on the keys and looked to the angel with raised eyebrows and a slack jaw. There was a look of hurt that shadowed his face for the briefest of moments.

“Right,” Crowley said softly and looked away, “of course.”

“I just…” Aziraphale did not look away. As much as it hurt. “I need to think about some things.”

Crowley nodded but said nothing. Aziraphale reached for the door handle but stopped. He took in a deep breath.

“Dinner at the Ritz tomorrow night?” he asked cautiously. This time Crowley did turn to look at him. There was some hesitance, but also some hope.

“Yeah, sure, good,” he replied.

“Excellent,” Aziraphale said and let himself out. It was important Crowley know that no matter what they would still be friends. He just needed to think. To come to terms with what happened, to figure out a way to leave it in the past.

\--

By the time midnight rolled around Aziraphale was no closer to knowing what he should do. He kept wobbling between just talking to Crowley outright and pretending it never happened. Both had disastrous potential so it was up to him to decide which had the least dreadful outcome. He abandoned his thoughts when the bell above the bookshop door sounded.

“I told you, Crowley, I need to th-” Lips on his again, heated, devouring. Aziraphale tried to push him away but Crowley would not budge. He crowded against Aziraphale until his buttocks bumped into his desk. Finally, Crowley released him.

“Honestly, this is-” but he could not finished. Crowley manhandled him until he found his face against the wood of his desk. He felt Crowley’s arms around him, undoing the zipper of his trousers. Aziraphale could only choke out a small, “Crowley” before his trousers and pants were shoved down around his ankles.

Behind him, he heard the metal sound of Crowley’s belt buckle being undone. And felt himself grow stiff so quickly it made him dizzy. His fingers clutched uselessly against the wood. He felt two slick fingers inside of him and yelped slightly. They moved fast, hard, and this time Aziraphale grabbed at the edges of the desk as best he could.

“Crowley, wait-” but the fingers were gone and he felt the solid warmth of Crowley’s still clothed torso against his back. He felt lips against the underside of his ear. And just as he was relaxing into the ministrations Crowley pushed into him in one move.

All Aziraphale could do was hold on as Crowley set a punishing pace. He fucked into him and chased his own desire, not seeming to care about Aziraphale at all. Maybe he was mad that Aziraphale hadn’t spoken outright about what happened the other night or that he’d tiptoed around it. Maybe this time he wanted Aziraphale to not be able to just forget.

“Fuck,” it was the only word to leave Crowley’s mouth since he had walked in. He grabbed roughly onto Aziraphale’s hips, bruising. He fucked into him in shallow thrusts, blindly pushing them both to the edge. And the moment Crowley released one of Aziraphale’s hips to cart a hand through his hair and pull, Aziraphale was gone over. He came hot and hard against the side of the desk, against his stomach. He felt Crowley push deeply in and continue to try to move in even further before he too came.

Once again, by the time Aziraphale came down from his high, Crowley had pulled out and was zipping up. Aziraphale stayed against the desk, his body not able to sustain his own weight. He only lifted his head slightly to call after Crowley, but he was already gone.

\--

Aziraphale wandered aimlessly around the bookshop. _What was that?_ He would pick up a book and sit in his chair and try his best to read. There was a twinge of pain whenever he shifted in his seat. _Why did Crowley just leave?_ Reading was useless. All the words jumbled together and made no sense. All he could do was think about what had happened. Crowley barging in, taking him against the desk. It was surprising and more than a little hot. What should he say when he sees him again? Should he ask about it? Was this just his life now?

\--

“Angel?” he heard from nowhere in particular. He had been staring at a page in one of his books for almost an hour now, not reading, just thinking. “Angel?” Louder this time. Closer, too. Aziraphale looked up and saw two Crowleys for a moment before he realized he’d zoned out so much that his eyes had gone cross. The two melded into one Crowley. He stood next to the desk, a worried look on his face.

Aziraphale glanced at the desk, back up to Crowley.

“You alright?” Crowley asked him, not even paying mind to the desk.

“Yeah,” Aziraphale said thickly. He reached for the nearest liquid and found a teacup with cold Earl Grey in it. He stared at the desk as he drank.

“You sure?” Crowley walked closer, sat in the chair across from him. Crowley didn’t look convinced when Aziraphale nodded slowly. “Maybe we should eat in tonight? That Chinese place round the corner would be good.”

Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. Crowley was acting perfectly normal, like he hadn’t fucked Aziraphale against a desk a few hours ago. Were they still meant to pretend? Of all the thinking after Crowley drove off and then after he’d left again, Aziraphale was no closer to understanding or knowing what to do.

“We can do whatever you want to do,” Aziraphale was still somewhat hoarse. Under his breath he added, “Obviously.”

“What?” Crowley asked as he leaned slightly closer. Aziraphale looked away and shook his head. He couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Nothing,” Aziraphale croaked out. Crowley shimmied to the edge of his seat so he was barely even still sitting in the chair.

“No, no, no, don’t do that again,” he sounded cross. What was he to be cross about? Was he just as confused as Aziraphale? “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, but Crowley waited. He still could not look at him. Only at the desk. Flashes of their tryst, of Crowley shoving him down onto the desktop, the cool feel of the wood under his flushed skin, the way his nails dug in as Crowley fucked into him.

“Did I do something?” Crowley asked in a low voice. This time Aziraphale did look up, caught his eyes, his sunglasses pushed up onto the top of his head. “Aziraphale if this is about last night…”

Finally.

“I’m sorry I was so dismissive,” Crowley looked genuinely sorry. Even if that wasn’t the word Aziraphale would use, he did seem remorseful. “You’re right to be afraid.” What? He wasn’t afraid, per se, though at first it had startled him being manhandled. “But whatever happens we have each other. And if it comes down to it we can always go to Alpha Centauri.”

Oh. He was talking about Aziraphale’s concern about Heaven and Hell. It wasn’t currently at the top of his list, but it was good to know that Crowley had a plan. He was about to open his mouth and ask about what had gotten into him, but stopped short when Crowley reached across the coffee table to circle his fingers around Aziraphale’s wrist. He almost dropped the teacup he had completely forgotten he was holding.

“Take away sounds wonderful,” he said instead. As long as he had Crowley. That’s all that mattered in the end. Just as he’d said, whatever happens, they have each other. If that meant Crowley barging into the bookshop and fucking him every so often then alright. It wasn’t really a hardship for Aziraphale to endure. Though the glib way Crowley was dealing with it certainly was.

\--

It was late by the time Crowley left the shop, near midnight. The night had been a strange and tense affair. They talked of going to Tadfield to visit Anathema and Adam. They discussed giving them gifts for saving the world. But the whole time Aziraphale felt like he was dying, that inside himself somewhere a light of hope was dimming little by little. The more Crowley seemed to not want to talk about the last couple of nights, the more the light went out. But Aziraphale was resigned. What was that human notion he’d heard of? Friends with benefits, was it? If that’s what it took to be with Crowley then that’s what it would be.

The clock in the shop struck midnight and something inside of Aziraphale tensed. This was when Crowley usually showed up, like some crazed and horny Cinderella. He sat and waited for the tell-tale jingle of the bell above the door. He did not have to wait long.

The demon appeared beside a shelf, removed his sunglasses and put them in a pocket inside his jacket. They stared for a moment, neither daring to say a word. Crowley tilted his head toward the stairs that led to the flat above the shop. Aziraphale took a deep breath.

This is how it has to be.

\--

Crowley started dressing immediately afterword once again. Aziraphale cleaned himself and covered up with a blanket, feeling oddly exposed.

“You could stay,” Aziraphale croaked out. Crowley let out a soft laugh. “I-I’d like you to stay.”

“And why would I do that?” Crowley asked, putting his jacket on and tugging at the lapels. “You don’t get it, do you?” There was a terrible smile on his face, so terrible it almost frightened Aziraphale. He found himself cowering even more under his blanket.

“Crowley?”

“Come on, Aziraphale! I’m a fucking demon,” Crowley spit out a laugh. “Did you think this was real? Any of it?”

Aziraphale was taken aback for a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“This,” he flicked a finger back and forth between them. “It’s all a lie.” He slithered closer to the bed. “I never loved you.” Aziraphale swallowed thickly, the anguish in his chest felt molten. “I never cared about you.”

“You-you did,” Aziraphale whispered, more to himself than Crowley. “You do.”

And that brought him back to the bandstand. Those words out of Crowley’s mouth. Aziraphale denying them. Was this because of that? Was this some sort of revenge? Nonsense. Crowley would never.

“How could I?” Crowley asked as he leaned ever closer to the angel. “You’re a fat, ugly, old bookseller. Can’t even consider you an angel anymore.”

Aziraphale felt the sting of tears leave his eyes. “No.”

“Yesss,” Crowley hissed. “All of this was Hell finally winning against Heaven. Armageddon didn’t matter, it was only for this: the temptation of an angel. ‘Bring down the weakest one’ they said.”

By now Crowley was inches away from him, leaning over the space the bed left between them. Aziraphale clutched the blanket to his chest. He could feel his head shake in protest. Every part of him screamed that it wasn’t true. But there was one small place, that little voice that sounded oddly like Gabriel that told him it was.

“I’m a demon, Aziraphale,” Crowley said in a low voice. “We don’t love. We can’t.”

Aziraphale tried to argue but all the words were drowned in waves of fear and tears. He felt himself hyperventilating. He kept shaking his head. Crowley loved him, always loved him. If there was one thing he’d always been sure of it was that. It was the one constant in the whole universe.

“No…” he whispered. He felt fingers graze his face. And flinched away. He looked up to see Crowley smirk. He laughed, loudly.

“Who could ever love you?” he said before straitening himself up and walking out the door. Aziraphale stared after him, willed him to come back, to wake up, something. Anything. This wasn’t real, couldn’t be.

But maybe Crowley was right. Maybe he’d been ignorant this whole time. And now he was damned, a sinner, tempted by a demon. He would fall. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his wings. He lay down on his side and drew his knees to his chest and cried.

\--

Somehow, he still wasn’t entirely sure how, Aziraphale had managed to get out of bed and dress himself. Not his usual garb. Instead he wore a pair of slacks, a button up, and a soft, old cardigan. Crowley called it his “old bookseller” outfit. Perhaps he should have seen this coming after all.

He sat himself in his favorite chair and stared at the couch across from him. How many times had Crowley sat there? Drank with him? Laughed with him? It couldn’t have all been a lie. Not since the beginning, since Eden.

His thoughts were disturbed by the familiar sound of the bell above the door. He felt himself tense. For the first time since he’d opened the shop, he hoped it was a customer.

“Morning, angel,” Crowley beamed at him. He held up a white paper bag. “Brought you one of those Danishes from that place near mine.”

He dropped the bag onto the top of the table and dropped himself on the couch with a soft “oof.”

Aziraphale stared at him, unsure what to do or say. Was this an apology? It would take far more than a Danish.

“Would it be irresponsible of me to get a sloth?” Crowley asked as he looked aimlessly around the shop. “I know they don’t really do anything, not really sure why Noah even saved them, but-”

They caught eyes, even though Crowley wore his sunglasses. Aziraphale felt himself flinch. Crowley sat rigid, a literal snake ready to pounce.

“What is it?” he asked, casting his gaze around the shop again, “What’s wrong?” He sniffed the air. “Angel, there’s no one-“

“Don’t call me that,” Aziraphale bit out, his voice hoarse. Crowley looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Why not?” he asked, confusion evident in his voice. Aziraphale gave a hollow laugh.

“It’s like you said, I’m not really an angel anymore.” To this Crowley looked even more confused. “I think you should leave, Crowley.”

He could feel himself shaking: his hands, his legs, his mushy insides that may or may not be anatomically correct. It was all he could do to keep himself together. Crowley was waving his hands around like he was trying to grasp at something.

“Angel-“

“Don’t!” he seethed through his teeth. Crowley stopped moving his hands and held them palms out, fingers splayed: okay.

“Just tell me what’s wrong,” Crowley said. He let his hands fall. “Tell me what happened.”

Aziraphale could feel the angry smile spread over his face. It was Crowley’s turn to flinch.

“I’m just a fat, ugly, old bookseller, I believe were the words you used,” Aziraphale began.

“Wha-“

“Shut up! I want you out, Crowley. I never want to see you again!” He could feel the burn of tears in his eyes, the wobble of his lower lip.

_It’s for the best_, he kept telling himself.

“Aziraphale, please,” there wasn’t sad resignation as there had been at the bandstand. No, this time Crowley looked scared; truly, utterly terrified. “Whatever you think happened-“

Aziraphale shot out of his chair, “Whatever I think happened?! I know what happened, Crowley. And you were right.” Crowley still sat confused, staring up to Aziraphale with open-mouthed shock. “It was all a lie. We…”

He swallowed heavily and felt tears down his cheeks. Crowley began to stand, to speak.

“We don’t belong together,” Aziraphale said quickly before he could do either. “We never have.” His breath hitched in his throat as he felt a well of pain resurface. “W-we never w-will.”

If he didn’t know better Aziraphale would say that Crowley looked devastated. The demon opened his mouth, closed it again. He looked away, looked back. He stood slowly, carefully, like he’d been sitting on a landmine. Aziraphale couldn’t help but watch the bob of Crowley’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“Alright,” the demon said softly. “I-“

He kept staring, it almost made Aziraphale want to wrap his arms around him, to keep him in whatever way Crowley wanted. Even if he didn’t love him, even if he couldn’t. “I’ll go.”

“I think that’s for the best,” Aziraphale said. That’s been his whole existence, for the best. Do what’s for the best. Serve Heaven, avert the Apocalypse, deny Crowley. Deny himself.

Crowley walked away, stopping at the door, his hand on door handle. He took a deep breath and turned to Aziraphale and for a moment the angel thought he might fight, might explain, might beg forgiveness. He opened his mouth only to grit his teeth and shut it again. He opened the door and walked out into the shining morning sun.

\--

When Heaven and Hell need to meet on neutral ground they go to the only place in the world where no one will notice anything out of the ordinary: a Denny’s. In this particular Denny’s two angels sit across from one another. Michael and Gabriel sit quietly, waiting for their counterpart to arrive. Surely enough, the door swings open and in walks Crowley. He saunters toward them and slides into the booth next to Gabriel.

“Well?” Michael asks without preamble. Crowley smiles, the same dark, evil smile he’d given Aziraphale. If the patrons of the Denny’s took any notice at all to their surroundings they would see that Crowley’s face had begun to shift, first slowly and then in a blur. Crowley’s features melted away and in their place was another demon entirely. Hastur.

“I’ve done it,” Hastur said with the same smile. “They’ll never want to see one another again.”

“Excellent,” Gabriel said cheerfully. He turned to Michael. “I told you we’d find a way to destroy them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a second part to this story with a happy ending that isn't finished yet. So, let me know if you want more and I'll finish it up as fast as I can!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask and ye shall receive. Here's the happy ending (with still a little bit of angst).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you to all the wonderful people who gave me such lovely comments on chapter one. When I originally published the first part of the story I wasn't sure I'd ever finish the second, but the love you guys gave me pushed me to do it. So, this is for all of you!

Crowley wasn’t exactly sure what to do with himself. He’d sat in his car outside the bookshop for an hour, his hands white-knuckled on the wheel, his teeth grinding. Every so often he would think about going back in. Once he’d actually gotten out of the Bentley and walked to the door. Through the dusty window, he could see Aziraphale, sitting on the floor, back against a bookshelf, sobbing. Crowley grabbed the door to push his way in but felt his skin burst with pain.

Aziraphale had put an anti-demon ward on the door. Clever angel. Crowley thought for a moment of enduring the pain to knock on the door but decided perhaps it was better not to. Whatever was happening, Aziraphale was not interested in seeing Crowley.

So, he got back in the Bentley and drove home. It was a good thing the car had learned the route from the bookshop to the flat a long time ago because Crowley couldn’t concentrate on driving to save his corporation. His mind swirled with confusion. What had Aziraphale been talking about? He’d never called him names, especially not fat or ugly. It had to be a mistake. Perhaps Aziraphale was feeling the ramifications of splitting from Heaven. Crowley could remember still how difficult and painful it had been, how angry he had felt.

He spent his night watering his plants, but too forlorn to so much as raise his voice to them. Instead, he talked to them. Actually talking, in a normal timbre voice. Like a human. They were less than helpful. He watched telly the rest of the night. He’d flip to a channel, watch it while his mind drifted, and then flip it to another channel. He just couldn’t understand.

\--

The next day Crowley sat at the coffee shop across the street from the bookshop. He didn’t really care for the coffee but the place was 24 hours so he could stay as long as he needed to keep an eye on Aziraphale. No one went into the shop, no one came out. From this distance, he could see the closed sign in the window. But no sign of the angel.

“Are you two fighting?” a voice asked. Crowley looked up to see his waitress, pot of coffee in hand. “That’s a shame, you really seemed good together.”

“What?” he didn’t have the current mental capacity to understand what was happening.

“It’s just the last few nights you seemed really happy when you left. Well, last few mornings I suppose they were,” she said with a wink.

“I haven’t been here before,” Crowley argued dumbly. It was like taking a puzzle out of the box and finding there were no edges.

“No, not here, there,” she said and pointed to the bookshop with the coffee pot. “I worked the night shift for a friend and saw you. Suppose I shouldn’t pry.”

“No, no, pry away,” the still demon part of him said. Prying and gossip were some of his favorite sins. “You’re certain you saw me?”

“Tall redhead wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night?” she replied with a grin. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Crowley decided to let that slide. “What time was this?”

“’bout one in the morning or so.”

Suddenly the puzzle came together. Whatever Aziraphale had thought he’d said, it had been someone else. And Crowley had a few good guesses as to who. He stood out of his chair in a rush and before he could stop himself he wrapped the waitress in a hug, miracling fifty pounds into her pocket.

“Thank you,” he whispered. She looked confused but smiled.

“You’re welcome,” she called after him as he ran out into the street, not even bothering to look for traffic.

\--

Aziraphale felt empty, strained, tired. His eyes burned, his head hurt. It only got worse when a loud pounding came from the window.

“It’s closed!” he shouted absently. He was still sat on the floor, back against a bookshelf. The pounding continued followed by muffled shouting.

“Aziraphale!” He looked up to see Crowley at the window of the door. He felt his stomach lurch and contract. Why couldn’t the demon just leave him be? Did he have to gloat?

“It wasn’t me!” Crowley called, as close to the window as he could with the ward there. “Let me in.”

For a moment Aziraphale thought to ignore him, to rise and walk further into the safety of his books. But he looked up to the window again, Crowley was hissing, his hands burning from touching the ward. Their eyes met and Aziraphale saw desperation.

“Please, Aziraphale,” Crowley begged, voice muffled slightly. “Angel, it wasn’t me. I’d never say anything like that to you, about you. I lo-“

Aziraphale felt his chest tighten as Crowley swallowed down the word. As much as he wanted to look away, he kept staring, daring Crowley to say it.

“I love you.”

With a sudden painful burst of happiness in his chest, Aziraphale waved his hand and removed the ward. Crowley stepped in cautiously. He stood well away from the angel.

“What do you mean it wasn’t you?” Aziraphale asked, trying to tamp down the hope welling up in his chest.

“It had to be one of our old sides, Heaven or Hell. Maybe both. I just know that it wasn’t me. I swear. I’d never…”

Aziraphale flinched. It wasn’t Crowley. But that meant…that he…

Tears began to flow down his cheeks again and distantly he saw Crowley go still. He suddenly couldn’t bear to look at Crowley.

“It wasn’t me…” Crowley whispered again. He walked closer and crouched low, reaching out toward Aziraphale. “I would never say that. You’re the most perfect thing She’s ever made.”

Aziraphale looked to him this time, tears still in his eyes and he saw the truth. He saw Crowley.

“I should have known,” Aziraphale whispered to himself. Crowley was already shaking his head. He laid a soft, reassuring hand on the angel’s forearm. Aziraphale flinched again. “We…we…he and I…we…”

Crowley’s brow pinched together, confused. He squeezed Aziraphale’s arms softly. “It’s alright, angel.”

“No, no,” Aziraphale’s hand shot out and wrapped around Crowley’s biceps, almost painfully. “I thought it was you. That’s why I…that’s why we…but it wasn’t…it wasn’t.”

There was a shift in Crowley then, realization dawning. And that was it. Whatever love Crowley claimed to have would be gone. Aziraphale was ruined, destroyed by Hell or Heaven. Sullied. He waited for Crowley to look at him with disgust and pull away.

“Angel…” Crowley mumbled as he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale. For a moment Aziraphale had no idea what to do. “It’s okay, it’ll be okay.” Crowley was murmuring into his ear. “I’ll fucking kill them. I’ll fucking destroy them.”

“I’m sorry, I should have...” sniffle “…known it wasn’t…” sniffle “…you.”

Crowley pulled away, sending a soft wave of panic through Aziraphale. But it was only to hold the angel’s face in his hands. Crowley was gritting his teeth, his eyes glowing. He was angry, livid, murderous. “This is not your fault, angel.”

“He…it…never called me angel,” sudden realization dawn on him, like a brick to the chest. He couldn’t look at Crowley, couldn’t see the disappointment. “I should have known.”

“Look at me, love,” he could tell Crowley was trying to keep calm, but could still feel the boiling hatred rolling off him like waves. But it wasn’t toward him. He looked into those golden serpentine eyes. “It’s not your fault. And we are gonna make them pay.” He began to grit his teeth again. “If I have to burn down all of Heaven to do it.”

\--

Aziraphale was bone tired, something he had never felt before in his long existence. Crowley had managed to cajole him into laying down on the couch (after refusing to go anywhere near the bed upstairs). Crowley covered him with a blanket and set about making him some cocoa. Aziraphale could hear Crowley muttering all the way from the kitchen. Not every word, but he could make out “kill” and “destroy” all too well, and curse words in languages long dead.

In his memories, Aziraphale tried to push away fake Crowley. It was not that easy. His hands, his mouth, his face. They were all still there. Still here. In the kitchen, making him a drink. But no, that was Crowley, the real Crowley; the Crowley that had loved him for six thousand years. The Crowley that still loved him.

“Here you go, angel,” Crowley said quietly as he handed over a nice steaming mug.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale’s voice came out as a croak. But the warmth of the cocoa spread through his limbs and he had no doubt Crowley had put some kind of miracle into it.

“I want to set a trap,” Crowley said apropos of nothing. Aziraphale felt his stomach drop. “I want to know exactly who it was and I want to rip him apart.”

“We could bring the fury of Heaven and Hell down on us,” Aziraphale argued. He took another sip, letting the warmth and comfort push away all the terrible memories.

“They should be more worried about my fury,” Crowley replied, balling up his hands until the knuckles turned white. “We have to do something.”

Aziraphale did not answer. He drank his cocoa until he felt almost angelic again. Crowley watched him the whole time, never looking away, never blinking. Waiting, a snake coiled and ready to strike.

“How would we even trap them?” Aziraphale finally asked.

“It’s Hastur, I know it is, so all we have to do is make a setup to catch a demon, a sigil or something.”

“I learned a few, way back when, just in case,” Aziraphale smiled bashfully. Crowley smiled in return, not angry. Never angry. Always that soft underbelly that never quite let him be angry at Aziraphale, no matter how badly the angel had hurt him.

“I’m sorry, Crowley.”

“It’s fine, I know wards to keep angels away.”

“No, not that. I’m sorry for what I said at the bandstand.” Aziraphale looked down at his almost empty mug. “It wasn’t true. We are friends. You’ve always been…” he had to stop, a strange lump in his throat. He tried to clear it but it wouldn’t budge.

Crowley smiled and nodded. He always understood exactly what Aziraphale was trying to say. Well, that was until recently, but he couldn’t be blamed for that. No, the fault lay with Aziraphale. It always would. Even if Crowley said he wasn’t to blame.

“Now,” Crowley said as he cracked his knuckles, “we just have to lure Hastur here.”

\--

“I thought you said you handled it?” Gabriel said as he stared daggers at the demon. The bustle of the Denny’s drowned out his words from would-be eavesdroppers. Not that anyone did that at Denny’s, that’s why they met there.

“I did!” Hastur quietly said.

“Obviously not well enough,” Michael argued. Hastur crossed his arms over his chest.

“Maybe the two of you would like to try?” As he suspected, neither of them volunteered. “So Crowley took an advert out in the papers, what does that matter?”

“It’s a marriage proposal,” Michael hissed. The demon still did not seem too worried about this turn of events. “You must find out if it worked.”

“After what happened? Never.” Hastur was so sure it could almost lull the angels into a sense of ease. But that’s not Gabriel or Michael. Ease isn’t even in their wheel-house.

“We need to know for certain,” Gabriel ordered. “Aziraphale is soft and desperate for companionship.”

Hastur sighed in agreement. Even on such a busy morning (a Saturday full of hungover people still wearing the same clothes as the night before (it might have been a minor demonic miracle of Crowley’s that people ended up at Denny’s at such moments)) no one took notice when the demon shifted into an entirely different demon.

\--

Aziraphale waited, fidgeting. Crowley had left not long before, promising to be close. But still, Aziraphale was not entirely sure he could do this. Could he hurt someone, even if it was a demon? Especially one wearing Crowley’s face? Though with how angry Crowley was, Aziraphale doubted the pretender would have a face for long.

The bell chimed.

He was starting to have a Pavlovian response to that bell. He trembled and his stomach knotted up. He turned to see Crowley standing there, glasses on, hands in his pockets. Even though Crowley had said he wouldn’t come back in without a signal (saying “angel” the second he came through the door) Aziraphale had a moment where he thought for certain this was the real Crowley.

“Did you see the newspaper?” not-Crowley asked. Aziraphale nodded his head. His tongue felt too fat in his head to properly speak. Most importantly, he tried not to look at the rug that lay on the floor between the two of them. Underneath of which was a sigil Aziraphale himself had drawn, one that would capture and hold a demon.

“Yes,” Aziraphale managed to say. He tried not to wring his hands but found himself doing so anyway.

“And?” not-Crowley asked, nose wrinkled in the way Crowley did sometimes. Aziraphale kept his gaze from the rug as he stepped away from it slightly, trying to draw not-Crowley into the trap. But the demon stood firm, just outside. Aziraphale could feel his nerves vibrate, his body shake.

“You made yourself quite clear last time,” Aziraphale managed to say, his head held high, trying for the confidence he did not possess.

“So you still hate me?” not-Crowley asked, uncertain. Aziraphale was unsure how to answer. He needed to make the demon come closer, into the sigil. Suddenly from outside the window, Aziraphale saw the real Crowley. He had promised to be close, but Aziraphale feared this was too close.

“I could never hate you, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered to the figure outside.

That seemed to make the demon move. One foot on the rug. As soon as the other lifted from the floor and onto the rug Aziraphale was moving. He placed his hand down and whispered old words that burned away the rug, leaving only the glowing sigil below.

Two things happened: Crowley bust through the door with fire in his eyes and the pretender’s face began to shift, melting away into Hastur. There was screaming and Aziraphale was unsure if it was one of them or all of them.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Crowley was heading straight toward Hastur. Luckily, Aziraphale cut him off.

“You can’t cross into the sigil, you’ll get stuck,” Aziraphale argued, moving as Crowley tried to get around him.

“Fine, I’ll have plenty of time to rip his fucking skin off,” Crowley screamed in Hastur’s direction. The demon cowered.

“No, Crowley, I might not be able to get you back out,” the angel said quietly and felt a tear go down his cheek. The wobble in his voice seemed to get Crowley’s attention back. He looked down and the anger suddenly dissipated. “We stick to the plan.”

Crowley nodded, cradled Aziraphale’s face in his hands. “Okay.”

With that Aziraphale began to pray. Not to God, but to Michael and Gabriel. He knew there was a good chance they were listening. There was a small woosh of air and a chiming noise. He knew they were there before he opened his eyes. Crowley went rigid beside him.

“I’m guessing you were part of this,” Crowley said, teeth scrapping against each other violently. He motioned to Hastur. Gabriel shifted and Michael actually looked away.

“Yes,” Gabriel said simply. Crowley seemed to be calm but that only made Aziraphale more worried. The demon smiled, walked forward, and punched Gabriel in the mouth.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale reprimanded, though if he was being honest he enjoyed it very much. Crowley flexed his hand. He backed away from the angels, seething.

“This is what’s going to happen,” Crowley said, glaring at everyone who wasn’t Aziraphale. “You’re going to leave the two of us alone, or so help me God and Satan I will destroy each and every one of you atom by atom.”

There was an aura about him then, bright red and orange like the very fires of hell. Even the Archangels backed away with wide eyes.

“I will rain unholy fire on every angel or demon that comes anywhere near us,” there was a faint hiss to Crowley’s voice and for a moment, just a flash, Aziraphale and the others could see Crowley’s true face: not the man or the snake, but the demon; the former angel that had burned in the sulfur pits of hell. It was terrible and glorious. Aziraphale could have sworn he heard Michael gasp in fear.

“Are we clear?” Crowley stressed the words. The two angels nodded. “Good. Get out.”

That was all they needed to disappear in a blink. Crowley turned to Hastur, who cowered in the trap as best he could. “As for you…”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said in a soft voice. The shift in Crowley was instantaneous. His eyes grew soft as they looked back to the angel. “Let me.”

Crowley gave no objection. Not that Aziraphale thought he would. He walked to the sigil, to the still cowering demon. Aziraphale never felt violent, angry yes, but violent, never. He tried to summon all the hurt and pain and confusion he had felt. The righteous anger began to course under his skin, through his veins. It felt like his pain had manifested into a fire that engulfed his body.

“Please…” he heard Hastur whisper in fear. The sigil he was trapped in began to glow a soft blue. It surrounded the demon, who began to scream. It was ear-piercing, guttural, horrible. It was music to Crowley’s ears. Slowly, the light turned into a holy flame, something so rare it had not been seen since the Great Battle in Heaven. Even Crowley stepped away. The flames tore through the demon, who screamed hoarsely until his lungs burned out from within him.

Aziraphale felt the energy leave him and a sudden weakness take its place. He must have lost his balance because he found Crowley’s arms around him, steadying him.

“Shit, angel,” Crowley said in awe. “I didn’t even know you could do that.”

“Well, it’s been quite some time,” Aziraphale answered meekly. They looked to the sigil, the glow gone and nothing left of the demon, not even dust.

There in the bookshop with Crowley’s arms around him, Aziraphale felt almost whole again. Almost. But he felt a new burn now; tears streaming down his face. He sobbed in Crowley’s arms as they sank to the floor.

\--

In the days that passed, Aziraphale still refused to tell Crowley exactly what had happened. It made sense to him that Aziraphale did not like the bed in the flat upstairs, but he also seemed strangely reluctant to go near his desk. Aziraphale seemed happier, not crying nearly as much as he had right after the incident. But he was still a shade of his former self. There was still a small, vacant look in his eyes now and again. Crowley tried not to take it personally when he would reach out to touch the angel only to have him pull away.

“Why don’t we go somewhere?” Crowley suggested over tea in his flat. Aziraphale seemed calmer here, liked to water the plants and talk to them. “Tadfield, maybe.”

They sat next to one another on the couch that Crowley had popped into existence. Not touching. It shouldn’t really bother Crowley as much as it did. After all, they rarely touched before. But he wanted more than anything to comfort Aziraphale.

Aziraphale seemed to mull over the suggestion for a moment. “What about the sea? It seems so long since we’ve been.”

He was still weak from the destruction of Hastur, something Crowley feared may never actually heal. If any of it would. If he could ever hold Aziraphale’s hand without the angel flinching first.

“The South Downs would be quite nice. Cold, maybe,” Crowley agreed, sipping his tea and pretending everything was fine. Humans find the sea to be clarifying, that it washes away the old and welcomes in the new. Water has always been important to them. They live by it and they die by it. Crowley has seen thousands of civilizations rise and fall, all near water. London was a perfect example of the importance of water to society. It is long believed to have a power that even the occult (or ethereal) cannot understand. Perhaps it would be the perfect place to go.

“Sounds lovely, my dear,” Aziraphale smiles. It’s not sad as it too often has been of late, but hopeful. And for the first time ever, Aziraphale reaches his hand out to Crowley. Crowley slides his fingers along the inside of Aziraphale’s palms before threading them between the angel’s fingers, grasping tightly.

There is silence again. They sit for a moment, palm against palm. Suddenly Aziraphale shifts away. He does not loosen his hold, however, which Crowley considers a win.

“Crowley?” came a soft whisper, gentle and clear.

“Yes, angel?”

“You do know I love you, don’t you?” this time Aziraphale sounded concerned. Crowley turned to him and the sheer panic on the angel’s face made him want to drop his cup of tea and throw his arms around the poor thing. Instead, he squeezed the hand in his softly.

“Of course I do.”

“Because it’s true.” Still panic, milder now. “I do. Very much. For some time now.”

Crowley would have laughed if Aziraphale weren’t so tense, so unsure, so vulnerable. He ventured closer to the still rigid angel.

“I know, angel,” Crowley whispered. “I’ve always known.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but he supposed Aziraphale didn’t really need to know that. The tension drained away and Aziraphale smiled again. His eyes gleamed the way they used to. Before. Crowley knew no matter what that there would always be a Before and an After. But that little by little the After would be better than the Before.

\--

The cottage wasn’t exactly by the water, though it wasn’t far. The salt spray air could reach them on particularly windy days. Aziraphale would sit outside for hours at a time, reading. Crowley would garden, quietly threatening the local (and non-local) flora and fauna. Days passed. Weeks passed. Soon the owner from whom they rented forgot that he was renting to them at all. Aziraphale ensured the man was compensated handsomely for the place.

It was nearing winter, the winds growing colder. The crisp scent of winter deep in the air. None of this particularly bothered Crowley or Aziraphale. They continued in their daily rituals. Aziraphale read as Crowley kept his plants blooming, long past the point in the year where they should be.

“Crowley, my dear?” Aziraphale called as he lowered his book to lay on his lap. Crowley looked up immediately, eyes moving around the perimeter of the house from behind his dark sunglasses. There was no one.

“Yes, angel?” Crowley dusted his hands off on his black jeans and began to walk to where Aziraphale sat. When he arrived Aziraphale reached out his hand. Crowley did not hesitate in taking it.

“I never did answer you,” Aziraphale said, voice shaking slightly. Crowley cocked his eyebrow. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was talking about. The angel seemed to realize this and supplied, “The newspaper ad.”

In general, the two didn’t discuss anything involving what happened with Hastur and the Archangels, especially in regards to what happened between Aziraphale and Hastur-as-Crowley. Not even when Crowley suggested moving into the cottage for good. Not even when Aziraphale readily agreed and sold the bookshop without a second thought. He kept all of his books and most of his knickknacks, of course.

“What-" Crowley swallowed heavily, “What about it.”

“Well, you asked me a question that I never answered,” Aziraphale smiled, a real smile, a happy smile. He seemed to be the old Aziraphale, the Before Aziraphale. Crowley felt his stomach flip nervously.

“And?”

“And I’d very much like you to ask me again,” Aziraphale replied. Crowley was down on one knee before his brain could even catch up with the movement of his body.

He cleared his throat, “Angel, will y-"

“Yes,” Aziraphale jumped in, face beaming. Crowley felt a distinct sting in his eyes. He drew up Aziraphale’s hand and kissed the knuckles. Aziraphale scooted forward and threw his arms around Crowley. It was the most physical contact they had had, well, ever now that Crowley thought of it. He pushed his nose into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and breathed deep.

Before grew further away, a distant memory that may haunt them, but did not trap them. Now was the beginning of their future, whatever that may be. No matter what, they would face it together. And with each step they would get better and better and further and further away from Before. Until then, all Crowley needed was the angel in his arms.

\--

All Aziraphale needed was a demon who had never really been that good of a demon, a cottage that was quaint and warm and without certain memories of his old bookshop, and the knowledge that no matter what had occurred before, it was gone. That even when he found himself in tears, there would be warm arms around him that he had long ago stopped jumping away from and started moving toward. Safe. Even when the memories crept up on him, even when the pain was unbearable, he was safe.

There was a mantra he ran through whenever it became too much: it wasn’t Crowley, it had never been Crowley. Crowley loved him. Always loved him. From the Beginning and until the End and even after that. And all those terrible things Hastur had said and done with Crowley’s face would diminish. The anxiety would slowly subside.

They had chosen their side long ago. Human. And to be human was to be in pain, but it was also to love and be loved. And of all the human things Aziraphale had ever experienced love was perhaps his favorite. He’d loved food and books and his clothes. He still loved those things, but he found that if they were to all disappear he would not even notice. Not if Crowley were still there. And there was no doubt in Aziraphale’s mind that he would be.

\--

And so two non-humans lived a human life in a cottage near the sea. They visited their actual-human friends in Tadfield. They grew beautiful plants that were the envy of their neighborhood. They sang Christmas carols (well, one of them did, the other just mouthed the words lest he should burst into flames). To all the human eyes upon them, they seemed to be simple people, a little odd, perhaps, but in a sweet way.

Together, holding hands, sitting in their garden, the pair were the picture of domestic happiness. Even if this was not always true, it did not matter. Because their love was beyond human, beyond Heaven and Hell. It was ineffable.


End file.
